I’m two weeks late in starting to blog. I wish I had started sooner because I’m finding this very therapeutic…something I never thought I’d say.
Two weeks ago I had my 20 week ultrasound. I sat in the waiting room of my OB’s office and I was anxious, having to remind myself to take some breaths. Funny now because I was anxious about finding out if I’d be having a boy or girl…I was convinced it was a girl.
The ultrasound technician was measuring all of baby’s important parts…head, neck, femur…aaaand there’s the single protrusion. HE sure wasn’t a girl!! The tech said, “It definitely is a boy and he’s not afraid to show it!” I turned to my mom and younger sisters with wide eyes and a nervous laugh. Now THAT was a surprise. I got to watch him moving around for another fifteen or so minutes as the tech looked him over. He looked perfect to me, and I kept saying that to myself. It was the first time I had seen him since he was 5 weeks and 5 days old in my womb, literally just a little beating heart.
I was still wrapping my head around having a boy when the tech left the room and came back with my OB. This was normal…doctors look over the ultrasound. This isn’t normal: “we’re seeing something and we don’t really know what it is.” My head went blank. I could only process my OB’s words. He said, “there is an extra pocket of fluid in his abdomen, but we don’t know where it is or what it is.” That was it. No explanation, no possible outcomes, nothing. I had to ask, “what does that or could that even mean?” His response? “It could mean that he would need surgery after he is born…” Again, that was it. He went swiftly into let’s-schedule-you-an-appointment-with-a-specialist mode. Seriously, I’ve never seen a doctor (not to mention another nurse) move so quickly into finding a specialist, probably because it was on the Friday of July 4th.
I sat with my mom in a hallway waiting to hear about the specialist. We both cried. We had been left with nothing. No information. No possibilities. No direction. Anxiety and fear welled up in my eyes. A nurse finally came out with a piece of paper that had directions scrawled on it. She said, “If you leave now, you can make it. The specialist is waiting for you.” That was the worst 25 minute drive.